Defense of the Ancients: The Last Stand
by Stormfeather
Summary: This is my attempt to create a fic with an actual plot out of the popular map Defense of the Ancients.Some details have been altered to become more realistic and to conform to the plot.Please READ AND REVIEW.All constructive comments are gladly accepted.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lina hurled her deadliest spell and watched as Leoric, the huge Skeleton King, crumbled into scattered bones and turned. That bolt of obliterating energy was the greatest of spells a sorceress like her could ever master. Laguna's Blade. Like the fabled sword itself, said to be impossibly sharp, the spell tore through defensive wards and bodies with equal ease.

This was the Valley, the ultimate stronghold for the civilized races, the unconquered bastion of order that has never, ever been stormed under by the forces of chaos and evil. Hundreds of years ago, guided by the Prophet Velmont, two hundred elven mages, the pride of the night elves sacrificed themselves in a massive spell to lock this one section of the world forever from evil. No matter how many kingdoms fell, this fortress would remain impregnable from fell armies.

Set in a niche nestled in impenetrable mountain ranges, only three valleys led to the giant tree of life. The fort itself was huge, a natural plateau with only three entrances, each facing a valley. Ancient Protectors, guardian trees that hurled rocks the size of horses with great force guarded the valleys. Just in case an army managed to destroy one of the guardians, a second awaited at a chokepoint near the fort itself, while more awaited within the fortress.

But the greatest and most powerful of secrets resided within the Tree of Life. Pulsing with life energies, the nexus of power that sustained the living defenses of the realm, that held the keys of rejuvenating even a wrecked world, that was the regenerative and restorative powers of the Tree. The Sentinels of the realm were living creatures. Animated treants patrolled the lands, spawned from trees whenever needed. Each group of treants was accompanied by a druid, a magically constructed creature with the spirit of a volunteer elf, all memory, consciousness and skills intact.

But crisis loomed. With his twisted might, the demigod Ner'zhul spawned a horrible reflection of the fortress. The energy drain nearly cost him his godhood. The champions of the realm, drawn from all walks of life, found themselves facing a relentless onslaught, including twisted analogies of even themselves. The entire fortress found itself facing a mirror twin, but a horribly mutated version. Ghouls and necromancers attacked in groups, a parody of the living guardians of the Tree.

There were no noncombatants. Any that did not belong to the dark scourge were summarily put to usefulness. Not as slaves, but either as food for the ghouls or as sacrifices to raise power for the necromancers. Their deaths were usually slow, agonizing affairs. Screaming was reported for days from nearby villages before activity in that area ceased. Scouting parties came upon horrors unlike anything ever seen before, entire families impaled upon stakes, dismembered bodies, blood splashed everywhere. Those were the lucky ones. Some unfortunate ones were still alive, throats too raw to scream. For them, an arrow in the heart was mercy, None could be saved. A few unlucky scouting parties fell prey and their deaths were long and torturous.

In this dark hour, another facet of the Tree manifested itself. Travex, the finest elven ranger in the lands had fallen victim to an ambush. The survivors of that ambush reported hearing her screams for a shockingly long time as she fell while covering their retreat. A few were on the verge of breakdown, for all knew and loved the ranger for her wisdom, skill and caring personality. Upon returning to the fort, a trio found her huddled, naked and trembling at the foot of the Tree. When she had recovered somewhat, they asked her what had happened.

Somehow, she had risen from her dismembered body (no, her death hadn't been quick) been drawn back into the Tree and resurrected. Her story had boosted the spirits of the Sentinels for some days, until reports of the enemy champions pulling off the same feat filtered through the ranks.

And here Lina was, a mighty sorceress in her own right. She strolled across the grass, away from the scattered remains of Leoric. It would be a while before he appeared on the battlefield again. First, the enemy would have to get him resurrected. By then, perhaps, the tide of the struggle would have turned.

But impossibly, she heard the crackle of bone behind her. Before she could turn, however, agony exploded into her back. Lina threw her head back and screamed, collapsing to her knees as Leoric's pitted blade tore into her back. She clutched the blood spurting wound with trembling fingers, the pain overwhelming rational thought. Had she been capable of thinking, she'd have known she was doomed.

The blade sheared through her neck with a wet crunch. Her head tumbled into the grass. Warm lifeblood spurted from her severed neck stump as her body stiffened for a moment, then toppled silently to the ground, still gushing a river of red. The morning sun briefly sparkled on the chain she wore, her quivering body ceased to move and all was still. Leoric turned away. Unlike him, she would not be walking the battlegrounds for quite some time. He would serve Ner'zhul, as always. His blade crackled with a red glow. A vile magic, tied to the corpse of its latest victim.

Before too long, a patrol alerted by Lina's scream arrived. The patrol commander, the druid, stumbled across the bloody decapitated corpse hidden in the knee-length grass. As he bent down to examine the object he had tripped over, Leoric, in the distance, triggered the trap spell.

Lina's corpse erupted in an explosion, killing the druid and sending a ten-feet spray of bloody gobbets splattering into the grass. The treants, animated trees that they were, flinched from the blast. Without their commanding druid, they proceeded along their patrol route.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Travex sat alone in the clearing, cross-legged. A simple robe was all she wore, light enough to not be restrictive.

Her eyes snapped open and she came to her feet in a single fluid movement. As if from nowhere, her fist shot out, tracing a perfect punch in empty air. She advanced, as light and as nimble as only an elven ranger could, striking out in a left-right-left-spin kick-reverse direction-kick, and stopped there. The reverse kick, the most difficult move in the ranger martial dance was wobbly.

She'd performed this with perfect precision many times before, in fact, every morning. But she hadn't slept a wink for three days running. Every single time she dropped into slumber, the dreams would plague her. She'd be flat on her back, the breath knocked out of her as three ghouls leapt at her, seeing but flesh to sate their monstrous hunger. Then the agonies would rush through her body along with wet, tearing sounds as the undead ripped her open. And then, she would relive her horrific disemboweling all over again. Only then, would she wake, tossing, back safely but totally exhausted. In fact, sleep was more of a drain than the waking world for her.

_I am going insane. Some spell has been set on me._ _That evil must not have me._ _There is only one last thing I can try._

At the foot of the great Tree of Life, there was a spring. Originally, in eons past, the spring had been but a natural feature. However, as the roots of the Tree penetrated the underground water chamber, the raw pulsing energies permeating the woody roots caused a radical transformation. The crystal clear waters now sparkled with vitality and the liquid was now a potent restorative and a powerful magical component. Somehow wounds and afflictions healed faster and spells had their effects enhanced in some way when water from the spring was used.

The elves called the place "The Fountain of Restoration" and set guards on it to prevent overuse and theft of this valuable resource. All who drew the water must be a full priestess of Elune or bear a token from one such, signifying approval.

The trio of guards spotted someone making his way up the gently sloping path that led to the fountain. He, no, she was lightly robed, though not in the usual garb of a temple acolyte. In any case, none of the guards mistook her for anyone else once the elven female turned up the final incline. This couldn't be anyone else but Travex, for she had trained most of the guards of this place.

Aranil approached his onetime weapons-mistress, hand on hilt as proper for a guard on challenge, though she could probably beat him senseless with but a stick against his sword.

"Lady Ranger, your token?" he inclined his head politely, never once taking his eyes off her.

"Here, Aranil, from Priestess Aenirva. I'm not drawing any water. I'm taking a swim so I'll need somewhere to disrobe." Travex, replied, handing over the sculpted stone token. Aranil raised an eyebrow, for a swim in the restorative spring was a treatment of last resort for the insane or unbalanced. And they usually had to be lobbed in. For what conceivable purpose could Travex require such a treatment? Nevertheless, he released his grip on the hilt of his weapon and indicated a particularly lush bush just beside the water.

Once behind the bush, Travex quickly shrugged off the robe. She wore nothing underneath. Turning, she vaulted directly into the pool, making hardly a splash. As sleek as a fish, she swam to the far end of the pool, but shot a glance back before turning... and met the gaze of the two guards squarely for a moment before they hastily turned away, flushing in embarrassment at having been caught.

Lazily, she glided back towards the bush, knowing that those two erring guards would dare to stare at her again, for fear of the consequences of being caught a second time. The cool water seemed to invigorate her, washing the fatigue from her mind. Climbing out of the water, Travex darted another glace at the two, who had their backs turned.

_At least they had the sense not to try that again!_

Putting on her robes, she walked out from behind the bush, away from the spring. The pair of elves on guard suddenly found Travex in front of them, eyebrows arched sardonically. _By the goddess, she could move fast!_ The elf on the right coughed and looked sheepish, while the other stammered out an apology.

_And who was the last human who didn't believe elves could stammer? To them, we seem like ethereal, lofty folk, but we're exactly the same as everyone else. Well, nearly._

"Uh, Uh, we're sorry, Lady."

"Try to be watchful for things that concern you, yes?" she replied mildly, quirking the corner of her mouth. She turned to leave, but before she had taken more than five steps, the other elf blurted out, "You're very beautiful, my Lady."

_And I wish that human had heard this cheeky reply._

Travex chuckled at his cheek, which apparently seemed to make the pair slightly less nervous. She made her way out of the little grove and back to her private little clearing. Although her mind felt a lot clearer now, the weight of three sleepless nights bore down on her like the mightest spell in an archmage's arsenal. She lay down on the soft grass, and within moments, was fast asleep.

No dreams haunted her slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mangix took a long drink from the flask he carried. The potent brew sent fire down his throat and strength into his muscles. A Brewmaster of Pandaria, the spirits and wines he created were of the finest quality. In fact, had Ner'zhul not brought destruction to most of the civilized world, he'd be much sought after by royals and nobles. Even the elves conceded that the Pandarian expertise in all manner of drinks alcoholic, whether brewed or distilled far outstripped their finest mint wines.

But the Pandarians were known for something else as well. The Pandarians were a race rather resembling giant bears with black and white fur. Upon a cursory inspection, they were just fat furry bears given a pair of hands and intelligence. However, any who attacked them, whether for their prized goods or otherwise quickly realized their error.

Based on the quarterstaffs and urns they used to transport their goods, the Pandarians had their own martial art style, of which most were proficient in. All Brewmasters, a title of honor in their society had to be experts in this unique combat style as well as their craft. Mangix had already slain two enemy champions, the second getting his skull smashed to bits by the large urn in the Brewmaster's left hand.

In fact, thanks to him, the Sentinel forces had actually made considerable headway down the central valley, even successfully overrunning an enemy forward position and demolishing the defensive structure.

Suddenly without any warning, a flurry of arrows were in the air as a skeletal archer appeared out of thin air near Mangix, bow glowing with unholy magic. Despite his lightning reflexes, two arrows sank into his shoulder, missing his vitals. Powerful muscles propelled the Pandarian twenty feet into the air towards his assailant, heavy urn raised to deliver a massive bludgeoning smash. The archer obviously realized that to let the strike connect would immediately end the fight there and then by shattering it into tiny bone fragments. It dove to the side and came up, nocking yet another arrow to fire at the landing Brewmaster.

But the assassin had miscalculated, an error that nearly cost him his existence. Mangix brought the urn down into a pulverizing strike straight into the ground, at the same time channeling spiritual energy into the blow. A shockwave raced outward from the point of impact, knocking the bow from the skeletal figure's grip and breaking a couple of bones in the process. While the undead was still reeling and stunned from the shockwave, Mangix charged. His deadly staff slammed into the skeleton's rib cage with enough force to smash the left half and fling the broken, hapless skeletal archer into a stout tree. Leaves went a-scatter amid a few more cracking sounds.

But it seemed that Mangix would not get a third kill today. Before he could finish off his opponent, the skeleton vanished as abruptly as it appeared and his weapon struck only empty air and he growled in frustration.

Doubly vigilant, Mangix examined the two arrows protruding from his shoulder. Neither seemed to be lodged in anything critical. Gently tugging, the Pandarian eased the two shafts from his shoulder and doused the sluggishly bleeding wounds with the liquid from the flask he carried, wincing as the alcohol stung. He gulped down a few more mouthfuls of his drink.

_Ahh, excellent drinks cure everything. But I think I ought to rest. I'm not sure I can focus enough to pull off another Ring of Thunder. Maybe I can pick up a couple of magic items from the dwarves, if a sell off a couple urns to the elves?_

The mighty Brewmaster champion turned for home, a hard day of warfare accomplished. He arrived back at the fort a while later and was soon snoring away in the evening twilight.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

PAIN. A stunning, throbbing pain at the back of her neck.A wickedly sharp stone positioned just the right way to send a jab of pain up her calf. Something hard and rough across her shoulder blades.

Across her shoulder blades?

The womanstirred with a groan and opened her eyes. A green canopy stared back at her. Forest. Where the hell was she? Who was she? She couldn't remember much more than a white haze. Her complaining back reminded her that this probably wasn't the best position to think. She forced herself to a sitting position and looked around at the trees. One of them was huge, stretching far beyond the canopy with a thick spread of leafy branches. It looked rather familiar. Something nagged in the back of her head.

_I've seen this bef..._

**_The Tree of Life!_**

_And I am Lina._

Suddenly, clarity burst in her mind and with it came images that sent her stomach contents roiling furiously. Blood. Lots of it, spurting fromher neck. The one that didn't have a head attached to it. She tried desperately to keep her stomach under control for but a few moments before emptying it onto the ground.

It hadn't seemed so bad before, it wasn't the first time she had seen a decapitating. This was war, after all. But it _was _the first time that death had been this up close and personal. And the darkness that haddescended on her was terrifyingly stifling, as if a piece of nothingness had wrapped her in a tight cocoon, sealing her off forever from the world.

Gradually, she asserted control over her rebellious stomach, which was still trying to regurgitate its now nonexistant contents. When she'd gotten that under control, she tried to stand even though her muscles screamed aching protestations. Tottering over to the washbasin kept available there by the elves ever since they found Travex slumped there, she cleaned herself of soil and vomit. Of blood, there was no sign, thankfully, since she wasn't sure if she could keep from retching again if she looked down and found dried blood on herself. The clean water sluicing over her skin calmed her mind and nerves.

When she was clean, she looked around for something to wear. In a carved wooden box were a pair of robes and underclothes, one set for males and another for females. She selected the one for the appropriate gender and slipped it on. The fabric wassmooth and slightly elastic, it slid into place without much hassle.

Lina gulped, steadied her nerves and walked out of the sheltered clearing, towards her cottage, just wanting to be home.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Lina awoke, nestled in blankets. She rolled off the bed andpulled on her bodice. She was about to pull on her robes and wash her face when she felt someone 'knocking' on the mindlink that she kept with the support mages. The call of duty again, faster than a magebolt. At least the herbs had kept the nightmares from intruding on her sleep. It was altogether surprising how fast one could actually get over the memories of dying like that.

The 'knocking' grew more insistent. With a sigh, she reached out with her mind and made contact. Telepathy with a willing subject _and _a ready mindlink was as easy as breathing for a mage of her ability.

_Lina?_

_Yes, who's that? Eltiraaz?_

_Yes. We've got a mission for you. Recon and possibly rescue. It's urgent. Can i meet you at the fourth teleport point?_

_ exasperated mental sigh> Yes. Who is it?_

_Travex. It's really urgent._

She was out of the house already, hurrying towards the designated teleport location. _Keep your feathers on, I'm heading there._

_Hurry._

_I AM hurrying._

She burst through the door into the semi sheltered location. "What is it?"

Eltiraaz turned from his preparations. He'd already set up a teleport circle to transport her, though the spell hadn't yet been activated. "Travex just went missing again, she was out to ambush one of the enemy champions, but the mages updating her on enemy movements lost contact with her, he says that something blocked his mind contact. Samantha thinks she could be trapped by enemy forces. She authorized this mission."

"Samantha? Who?"

"Duty Officer. She calls the shots, at least for today."

She knew enough to realize that it could be an actual emergency. "I'm ready. Get me there." And Lina strode into the teleport circle.

He was indeed a very competent mage, that she knew. Energies came at his beck and call around Lina. Abruptly, the energies died away. She looked at him worriedly and asked "What's wrong"

"There's an interference field in the area. And it's definitely hostile. Get your wards up, I'm going to warp us to the edge of the field. It's about six hundred feet wide and I can't tell what's there." He explained hastily, activating his own shields. Her protections flashed into life, a barrier against hostile magics. "Ready? I'm going to begin the spell." Power swirled around the both of them for a moment, then vanished along with the two mages.

Travex crouched, breaking her shadow to avoid being spotted. Her target was the Shadow, so named for her ability to hide herself anywhere. But not to the keen eyes of an elf. Travex had payback on her mind, for it was this particular champion who had caused her to suffer the agony of being torn apart by ghouls.

Her quarry vanished into the vegetation at the far end of the clearing. She peered around, ever alert for anyone approaching. Seeing no one, Travex carefully crossed the clearing as silently as a shadow. The mages helping her to scry has long since gone silent, probably assuming she could track her target once she laid eyes on it.

Suddenly an arm grabbed her neck from behind. Reflexively, she broke free in a single move.

_What the... ahhh... oww..._

Fiery pain burst in her abdomen before she could spin around. Paying no heed (more warriors were doomed by their own hesitance than anything else), she continued her spin to face her attacker, although the agony of the move almost forced her to double over. She came almost face to face with a gaunt, nearly skeletal figure. Magic swirled around this foe, obviously a mage.

_A mage! No wonder it could sneak up on me. Doesn't matter, the wardings from the priestess should hold long enough for me to kill it. Elven forged blades can pierce shields. So why do I have this bad feeling?_

It grinned.

_Expectedly. Now it dies. Permanently this time._

And pointed to her belly where the pain was emanating in waves. Involuntarily she glanced down for but a moment.

_No, you stupid fool, it's trying to distract you to cast a... oh goddess..._

A pair of massive gashes crossed on her unarmored belly, one from middle to groin and another from hip to hip. It had to be willpower that had allowed her to get this far standing up, not curled on the ground. Already she was feeling light headed and her intestines were visible.

_I have to kill this mage or I know I won't live. I might if I kill it, the wound may not be that deadly. I can get help._

Sheer determination and years of combat reflexes got her to clap one hand over her wounded abdomen, literally holding her guts in and reach for her blade with her other hand. The mage stood, grinning at her.

_Laugh at me some more. I'll teach you to ambush... oww...me. I'm not a helpless human who'll just curl up and die when you slash me a couple of times._

Before her right hand closed over the hilt, however, she was shoved to the ground and her hands wrenched behind her back by someone. Travex cried out in pain as she hit the ground hard.

_Aiii, who the hell!_

The Shadow's voice, raspy as always, floated over as she deftly tied Travex's hands behind her back. Blood stained the grass, a warm, pulsing stream.

_You!_

"Not really satisfied with what you got the last time, hmm? I knew you'd come back after me. So I teamed up with a mage. Say hi to Pugna in front of you, he's the one who made that conjured image you were following and he's the one who prevented your elven mage friends from warning you."

_The silence, oh goddess, no wonder. It hurts...so damn much...please...Elune...let this be over soon...they must have noticed something..._

Her voice rasped out again"You know, given that you've been used to dying quite quickly" she giggled, a horrible sound"you probably won't be too happy to know that I judged my strike quite precisely. Elven precision, in fact, if you appreciate puns. I didn't injure any of your organs, with which you'll be quite thoroughly acquainted with by the time you die. If you care to know, the venom which I used this time clots your blood so you won't bleed to death as fast. You'll perish slowly, completely unable to stave off your death. Wriggle a little, my little elven ranger. No? Ah well, at least you have that little dignity to deny me some enjoyment." Her voice hardened"The next time you decide to come after me, consider this, I'll kill you even more painfully than watching your guts spill slowly from your belly"

Fighting back tears, Travex heard the two walking away, the Shadow taunting her with the obvious sounds of her movement, being perfectly capable of moving much more stealthily than that.

She turned back. "You know, you should just slit your own throat. When I get hold of you after Ner'zhul razes that ridiculous Tree of yours, I'll make you suffer for a long long time."

Silence.

The wounds had torn through abdominal muscles, which made shifting an excruciating task. After the first abortive attempt, she gave up, gasping at the fresh agony. She looked down and saw that her efforts, bought with much pain had only succeeded at tearing the wounds further open. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle. A few coils of her guts had slithered onto the grass.

_Goddess, please...I give myself to you...give me relief...haven't the others noticed my silence by now..._

Nothing. She was aware only of the ground she lay on, pain, and the feeling of intestines spilling from her abdominal cavity. Oddly, the sight was somehow horribly fascinating, the blood smeared coils having a magic of their own. She waited and waited, hope dying away slowly. There was a rustle. Probably the wind.

As Travex lay sprawled on her side, tears of pain trickling from her eyes, she heard the bushes parting and the distinctive crackle-boom of Laguna's Blade, followed by a distant startled exclamation from the Shadow that was suddenly cut off with a crunch.

_I thought she's gone! She's watching me die! Bitch! Thanks be for the rescue, Elune! Lina, bless her is more than competent enough to take that conniving bitch and her pet mage on. Hell, she's even better than our own High Mages!_

Travex fell into oblivion, relief and blood loss overcoming her.

At seeing the ranger crumpled in the grass, Lina charged, Eltiraaz a breath behind. She burst out of the undergrowth and saw a skeletal mage. It didn't seem shocked, raising its hands to cast a spell, wards already active. The Shadow was ten feet behind, preparing to rush her.

Without a moment's hesitation, her mind shaped the energy configurations for Laguna's Blade and flung it at that skeletal mage. The energy blast ripped its shieldings to shreds and blasted the skeleton to smoking bits. The Shadow lunged, but collided with El's invisible wall before she could take more than two steps. His magic caught her before she could stumble back and hurled her high into the air, landing with a brutal bone shattering crunch, where Lina's readied firestorm caught her in its consuming fireball. Nothing but an unmoving charred corpse survived the fiery detonation.

She ran towards the downed elf. The female ranger lay sprawled on her side, hands bound behind her back. Her intestines were spilled from her belly onto the grass. In fact, the spill of organs was so bad that it was obvious from two hundred feet away. Lina sprinted, knowing that seconds were precious in saving this grievously wounded elf. Reaching the sprawled body, Lina pressed her fingers to Travex's neck, searching for a pulse.

_She's alive, but barely. Just barely. There isn't as much blood as I thought. _

Wasting no time, she splashed one vial of healing potion over Travex's abdomen and spilled intestines. The potion was elven and made with water from their Fountain of Restoration. Whatever that was, they said that it would work. That was enough for her. She trickled another vial down Travex's throat to stabilize the dying ranger. Eltiraaz tried to help but Lina stopped him as he began to gently tuck the eviscerated organs back into the disemboweled elf.

"Don't, we've stopped the bleeding, that's enough. Let the Healers do that. If you put her guts back here, the wounds could fester and kill her. Can you teleport us as near to the Healer's grove as you can? I don't want to move her too much." Lina explained.

"Okay, I can do that." El reached out and touched her and Travex. Power rose in a surge, and the clearing was suddenly empty, except for a charred corpse, assorted burned bits and a pool of blood.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

There was a knocking on the door. Eltiraaz was at the door in a flash, opening it. Lina stumbled in wearily and nearly fell, catching herself on El at the last moment. Only after he had helped her to a chair did he ask her why she was so tired.

"What happened, dear. Did we save Travex? Are you alright?"

"She's alive, just barely. We nearly lost her when the healing backfired because of all the poison that was in the wounds. The only thing that saved her life was the matrix that bound her and all the healers to me. Gods, I am tired. We're all this drained. I'll be alright, once I get some rest. Would you help me into bed? I'd hate to trip and fall again." she replied, stifling a yawn.

El jumped up and did exactly that, tucking Lina into bed. She murmured her thanks, faintly and fell asleep almost immediately. He stroked her cheek, "Rest well, love."

The news was all around the camp, two more enemy champions down, but Travex was again out of the battle, recuperating from her near fatal injuries. The blow to Sentinel morale was palpable, especially to the elven troops. After all, Travex represented the epitome of elven perfection, the best of the best the elven race had to offer. However, there was some consolation to be had. Eltiraaz and Lina assaulted the western enemy fortifications with a sizeable force to take advantage of the lapse in defenses that killing the mage had produced. Although the force took heavy casualties, they overran the enemy, razing all the defensive structures near the enemy position.

Elsewhere, there was more heartening news. The Trolls had finally pronounced the title of Shaman upon a trio of their most promising priests. The best, Rhasta, had shown up at the morning's war council all the way from the forest where the Trolls lived, two miles from the main grove, beside the cluster of orc towns. He was sent to hold the Eastern Valley temporarily till Travex had recovered. A Troll filling in for an elf. The significance was not lost on many. Perhaps warmer relations beckoned.

In his first fight, Rhasta proved his worth by holding the Sentinel lines against the Scourge troops led by Leoric. In that skirmish, Rhasta showed that Trolls could be very smart too, contrary to human belief. Although his Shamanic powers were ill-suited to direct combat, he managed to force Leoric's forces into a tactical retreat with minimal casualties by utilizing what he had rather brilliantly.

In the Northern valley, the Sentinels lost a little ground, but Mangix did managed to blunt an all out charge by two strange new champions.

Lina and El returned to camp, tired but triumphant. As they gazed down at the camp from a mountain pass, they saw children playing. Incredibly, orc, human and elven children were intermingling.

"Desperation breeds strong ties." El commented.

"Yes." Her reply seemed somewhat muted and tinged with sorrow.

"What's wrong?" El murmured, hand clasping hers, "Sometime in the future, our own children will be playing with others as well, no?"

"El, don't you see, Everyone's been hiding the terrible truth from ourselves. There is no 'sometime' anymore. Before all communication ceased, even the Paladin ruled kingdoms of the south were all falling like flies. We're perhaps the last of our respective races.. Ner'zhul is winning." she replied, the shadow of dying hope in her eyes.

"Didn't we just prove today that they aren't invincible? We are pushing the Scourge back. Don't worry, love, Ner'zhul has bitten off more than he can possibly chew this time. We're going to be that little bite that chokes him to death."

"And after we repel them from this place, then what? We'll be under constant attack. I wouldn't like our children to grow up in a realm where war is the norm. And Ner'zhul's thousands of ghouls he used to overwhelm most of the kingdoms, we haven't seen them yet."

"Ner'zhul almost cost himself his godhood when he made this mirror that he's using to attack us. If we turn the tables on him and destroy his mirror, we'll destroy him as well." El held her hands tightly, trying to kindle hope in her.

"Perhaps." Her reply was subdued. Then she hugged him fiercely, "I want to enjoy what little time we have together." And she gave him a kiss on the lips.

"We'll prove him wrong, you see if we don't." El murmured, and hugged her back, "He's going to regret the day he thought of this idea."

And they walked back to their cottage, hand in hand.

There were minor skirmishes. Here a few ghouls burst apart, there an archer tumbled to the ground gurgling in her death throes, throat ripped out by the teeth of a ghoul. But the lines remained unmoving.

For the moment, the advantage lay with the Sentinel forces.


	7. Chapter 7

To all my reviewers, thanksA LOT! Hehe...

000: Will be doing that, but not very soon.  
Pepperplus: Hmmm, about that name, I kinda favour Travex although the actual name is Traxex. Pugna wasn't the one who slit her open, it was Shadow. You know, like you suddenly realize that she's beside you with blink strike? And she's invisible to the normal screen. I reasoned thatshe probably would have a blade for melee work. Pugna was invisible. Leoric's trap was something I created.  
Pessimist: Some stories here exist for the lemon, some lemons exist because of the story. I know which I created, but does it look like the former?

Again, thanks to all my reviews. It really maks your heart sing when someone reviews, you know... hehe...

Chapter Seven

An elf burst from the bushes and sprinted across a narrow patch of sparse undergrowth. The four ghouls turned immediately and charged, seeing only fresh meat. The necromancer accompanying the four ghouls jumped in surprise, then turned for cover when he saw the shape of a deadly elven composite bow in the running figure's hands.

Too late.

A glint of metal off the shaft of an arrow, and then another as the archer launched two arrows, then fled. The necromancer went down with an arrow in his chest and another lodged in his throat. Paying no heed to their designated patrol commander, the ghouls rushed unerringly for the elf, far outpacing the slender figure. As everyone knew, ghouls did not tire. Normally, such an attack culminated in the screaming dismemberment of the unfortunate assailant. No one tried something this dumb.

But dismemberment was not in the plan. As the four undead creatures crashed through the bushes just thirty feet behind the apparently doomed archer, four treants set upon the undead, woody limbs flailing. One ghoul went down quickly, the momentum of its charge impaling it upon a sharp branch where it was quickly smashed apart into inanimate flash. The other three fell one by one under the hammering blows of the ambushing treants.

The elf continued running, in case the treants failed to overpower the ghouls even with surprise. She had no intention of letting the undead catch up with her. Only when her keen eyesight spotted Mangix did her steps slow as she moved to the great Pandarian's side and spin around, checking for signs of pursuit.

There were none. Shortly after, the bushes parted and three treants shuffled back, accompanied by a druid. One had apparently been destroyed by the ghouls. Mangix relaxed from his combat stance and the elf lowered her bow.

"Well done, Essandril. Travex will be pleased at your progress. An enemy squad down with only one casualty. Here, have a drink!" The big Pandarian held out a flask. Essandril made a face.

"I'm going to hit your furry behind if I shoot after drinking that. In any case, I know what you oversized fuzzy balls call "a fine wine". It'll probably take all the skin off the inside of my throat. You know, I've heard that the humans have found another use for your "drinks". They apply it on their walls and the paint peels right off. Just perfect for removing paint." She muttered, shaking her head.

"Well, strong ale is a marvelous thing. Too bad you elves don't have the constitution to enjoy life. Wait, are you serious about the paint? What a waste of good alcohol! No wonder they die young!" Mangix grinned, giving her a thump on her back that almost knocked the much smaller elf to the ground.

Essandril winced at the thumping. The scent of open greenery permeated the air. But something seemed wrong and out of place nowadays. The innocence of this place had been forever shattered. Blood, living and unloving had been spilled here, the place no longer seemed the elven paradise of dreams. Although the fortress had never compromised on its defenses, there was a kind of playfulness that had evaporated like morning mist when the first undead creatures had set foot upon the realm.

_Is this the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end?_

No answers rose from the ground or dropped from the sky.

As the squad resumed its patrol, Essandril let out a sigh and moved along gracefully as any elf would. In a way, Ner'zhul had already won the first victory. He had broken the spirit to resist in all but a few defenders. There were those that had chosen surrender and been lucky or unlucky enough to be spared a screaming death. Human, orcs, ogres, trolls, even night elves and high elves all served in the army of evil, some twisted beyond recognition, some willingly embracing the abyssal darkness.

But there could be small victories to be celebrated. In the face of this terrible adversary, the remnants of good ceased to be rivals, more of allies. Even the human prejudice against trolls and orcs was fading.

Necessity was powerful.

_Rhasta covering for Travex, Such would never be possible had this war not started._

The elves had been forced to abandon their pride and work with the other races, seen previously as inferior and barbaric.

_We should have seen this earlier. But then again, it's so much easier to close your eyes and pretend you were right all along._

Mangix tapped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to the present. He gave the sign for stealth, a finger across the neck. While the treants stumped forwards, their footsteps suddenly became much more measured, carefully avoiding dry leaves and twigs. In but a few moments, Essandril spotted the incoming ghouls that her furry mentor had warned about. A section on bush swayed, drawing her attention. It was a lich, it's clumsy attempt at blending into the terrain quite obvious to the keen senses of any elf, much less a ranger trainee only weeks from graduating. The shriveled figure was clad in smooth black robes and it was levitating a foot off the ground.

Mangix indicated the lich, then her right. Standard tactics, combining a distraction with a flanking maneuver. She slunk off through the trees, staying out of sight. As the opposing forces saw each other, they broke into a run. The gait of the ghouls lengthened and the lumbering steps of the treants quickened. The druid stopped and began calling on his powers to fire magic bolts.

_Where's the necromancer? Did this group destroy another squad? But the necromancer is usually the last to fall, they aren't mindless and can flee pretty well._

She scanned the greenery, pausing for a while to search the undergrowth with her ranger sight. Nothing. After a few moments, she continued moving. No time to worry, Mangix must be getting ready to charge. Just as she stopped and aimed an arrow at the gaunt figure floating in her sights, she saw Mangix in midair, aiming for the lich in a huge leap.

_Right on time. First shot!_

She fired an arrow aimed at the lich. The streaking projectile flew straight and true, but was knocked out of the air by an invisible force a measly foot away from her target. Mangix landed, urn smashing into the ground only three feet from the lich. Essandril swore and fired again, this time imbuing her shot with a bit of frost magic to aid its penetrating through the lich's shieldings.

The Ring of Thunder knocked the lich back fully ten feet. It didn't topple though, floating in the air. Her arrow didn't even make it that far this time. Twenty feet away, it halted, quivering in the air, then dropped to the ground. Before she could gape at that spectacular failure, a flash of light caught her attention. The necromancer stood triumphantly behind the now fallen druid. Before he could do much more than grin, however, two arrows appeared in quick succession in his throat and he toppled backwards silently.

Mangix saw the telltale blue shimmering on the incoming arrow and cursed inwardly. Travex had wanted her to get some combat experience for precisely this reason. Essandril hadn't the quick thinking skills needed to survive, for using the powers of ice and frost against a lich was more foolhardy than luck could manage to get you out of. He swung, a quick overhead swing that should have at least crushed the lich's temple. But before his strike could connect, what felt like gale force winds plucked his weapon from its deadly trajectory. He cursed wholeheartedly.

This relatively straightforward fight had turned out rather badly. A frontal charge and a flanking ally should have taken this particular champion down quickly an cleanly but clearly it wasn't working out that way.

Or perhaps it was. As he struggled to keep the lich off balance and deliver effective blows, two treants stumped to attack the lich. Presumably the ghouls were all down. Mentally, Mangix congratulated Essandril on her strategy, trapping the lich effectively. It couldn't run without being knocked back into the waiting branches of the treants by a simple leap over its head and a Ring of Thunder. Neither could it stay and fight, unless its spell offered invulnerability, sooner or later thay'd smash it into scattered bones.

The great Pandarian's strokes quickened as he sought to blow through a weakness in the enemy's defenses. Apparently the lich realized the precarious situation it was in. Mangix could feel the energies building as the it prepared to hurl a spell. He braced himself for the chilling nova that the undead thing was about to target him with.

It didn't fire the spell at him. It targeted Essandril instead, the frail elf instead of the huge Pandarian. A massive bolt of cold raced from the lich, freezing the moisture in the humid air into instant powdered snow. The spell caught her in midshot. She crumpled to the ground, shivering violently. The bolt rebounded off her falling form to surge toward the treants. Wood, frozen instantly brittle cracked apart as the spell sought Mangix. Taking advantage of the moment, the lich hurled the chilling nova that Mangix had been expecting towards Essandril's fallen form. She jerked, cried out in agony and slumped back on the ground.

The bolt of burning cold blasted the breath from his lungs and somehow managed to rebound back towards Essandril. She didn't stand any chance of surviving this blow, Mangix saw. With thinking and reflexes born of desperation and decades of combat, he hurled his massive urn and quarterstaff one after the other, aiming it to intercept the bolt. The spell shattered both weapons into icy shards but by that time the great Pandarian had leaped into the final trajectory of the deadly bolt. With his enormous constitution, survival for him wasn't an issue. She, however, would probably end up like his weapons if she took this hit.

Pain exploded in his shoulder as the bolt rammed home in his injured shoulder and didn't rebound again. This wasn't the first time he'd faced such a spell. He had figured correctly that the bolt could only bounce seven times. She was safe. For now at least. The lich was already far away, wisely staying far from a raging Pandarian, even one unarmed. His shoulder felt like it had been stomped on by an entire herd of bulls but he ignored the pain and knelt to assess he condition.

She was alive, just barely. Not good. Her body was trembling all over and she was drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn't help her. He'd seen this before, most of the damage was internal and killed the victim shortly after the blast instead of instantly. None of his restoratives or his emergency healing techniques would help her, he needed to get her to the real Healers, _fast_! Scooping her form up with his furry hands, he held her against his warm body and hurried through the forest at the fastest speed the undergrowth would allow for someone of his bulk. At times, he vaulted over bushes, seeking the Healers before it was too late for the elf he held in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

As Mangix burst from the thick undergrowth at a dead run, murmuring encouragement to Essandril who now lay limp and unresponsive in his arms, the elven sentries tensed for a moment as their combat instincts took over. Their keen sight took in the massive Pandarian and his casualty and wisely allowed him passage without challenge. He would have run them over without even noticing it, so intent on his destination he was.

Although his chest burned with the strain, Mangix arrived at the Healers Grove, dashing across the clearing. Somehow, a message had traveled faster than him and now a large group of Healer Apprentices and Acolytes lay the elf down on a stretcher, then rushed her quickly into the depths of the Grove where the Healers and Senior Healers worked tirelessly.

Mangix remained outside. No one was permitted to disturb the Healers. The Healing trances were not to be interrupted at all cost, not when they was literally putting people together on the inside with their magics. Those awaiting the outcome of a loved one usually waited outside, and someone had thoughtfully fashioned seating places from a large wooden block. The furry Pandarian collapsed into one of these, sucking in huge panting breaths like he'd run from one border to the next without pause.

In short, like he'd engaged in an exhausting fight, then rushed a gravely injured companion back to the Healers.

One of the Acolytes passed him a bowel of warm restorative soup, the stuff that they dished out to every combatant. The liquid tasted like diluted honey; all the better for the troops who needed every bit of energy they could muster in a fight. Or flight, he mused unhappily, considering his own situation. There was nothing more he could do for her but he wished that he'd been able to foresee the tactical disaster that had culminated in this narrowest of escapes. She would survive. She had to. Beyond his own affection towards this plucky elf, beyond the blossoming friendship, there were still the strategic considerations. For this young promising ranger to be to succumb before she was ordained officially as a Champion (and thus bound by ties of magic and duty to the Tree, perhaps extending her the ability to cheat death or so it seemed) would be considered a major victory for the Scourge.

In war, it was easy to forget all that transpired as long as it did not have any immediate effect on one's personal survival. In fact, that was one of the necessary traits for a soldier to have, to continue fighting as friends died beside them. But for generals, leaders, even squad officers, the ramifications of _everything_ had to be taken into account. Wars had been won or lost on the shortsightedness of their leaders. Or lack of.

His breathing slowed, still not quite normal, but at least short of outright panting. As his senses extended outward again, Mangix became aware of an elf seated near him, dressed in the robes of an Acolyte. Apparently, there was still some matters waiting to be settled.

"Master Mangix?" the elf tentatively began.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"My Senior Healer instructed me to attend to your injuries, if any. I am to Heal them if you wish. The Healers are very busy." The elf seemed weary, which didn't square with what Mangix knew of the Healers. No one tried to Heal while possessed to less than full alertness and attention. Certainly no one who was tired. Tired people made mistakes, and manipulation of body parts and functions was a place where the price of a mistake was likely death or injury.

No, he would not avail himself of the services of this Acolyte, even if his Senior Healer had judged him good enough to be on par with a full Healer ahead of his graduation. However, he had to tread carefully to avoid giving offense. No sense in antagonizing anyone he didn't have to. Taking a moment to choose his words carefully, Mangix turned to the Acolyte.

"I'm all right, don't worry. You seem really tired, shouldn't you be going to get some rest? No sense in wearing yourself to nothing. Is there anything wrong?"

"Well, I would, but there's lots of work to do. Only the Senior Healers are scheduled to rest, cause we need them at full strength for the real emergencies, like Essandril there. Everyone's overworked at the moment." The elf took a look at Mangix's shoulder. "Did you get hit there?"

"Yes, but it'll heal in a day. Are the Healers understaffed?"

"No, it's just that we started getting lots of casualties about two candlemarks ago, and most of them real bad. Half of them dead on arrival, some survivors in critical condition, the rest of them so traumatized that the Duty Healer declared them all unfit for combat. Essandril wasn't in good shape, but she'll be fine." the elf assured him. "The Senior Healers are really good. We had one just now who managed to get himself literally hacked apart. Looked like raw meat when they rushed him in. Somehow they saved him. He'll be lying in bed for the better part of the month and recovering for most of the year, but he'll walk again." The elf sounded confident. Mangix nodded and made to leave, then turned.

"Send word to me when she awakens, my thanks." When the Acolyte nodded, Mangix hurried from the clearing. He needed to know what had happened. Perhaps they needed some extra help. Rhasta would know. He'd been holding that valley for two weeks.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Rhasta was about to lie down on a nice soft cushion won in a wager when he heard the familiar bellow of a Pandarian. Since there happened to be only one in the entire camp (the rest were safely across the ocean), it was a good bet that something was up. Or that Mangix wanted a drinking partner.

"I be coming out!" Rhasta shouted out of the cave in the best Orc he could manage. No other race had managed to learn Troll, its guttural syllables and nuances specific to Troll vocal cords. Grumbling, the Shaman stepped from the cave to see Mangix waiting there. "What need?"

"What happened down your valley? Lots of casualties, lots of wounded. Did we lose ground again?" Mangix asked in Elven, knowing that the Troll could understand, if not manage the flowing words.

"Uh, I be off duty for three days. Rylai take over." The tall troll, frowned, wrinkled face creased in worry, not liking what he had just heard. "Maybe you go see her, in that magic tower."

"I will. Drink?" Mangix offered. Rhasta grinned and took a long swallow from the proffered flask, letting go of it with a satisfied sigh. "Very good!" he exclaimed in Troll, then translated to Orc.

Mangix watched him disappear into the darkness of the cave, then turned and headed for the main camp. At this hour, it was a safe bet that Rylai would be in the Tower. Probably sprawled over a bunch of soft cushions, if what he'd heard from the merchant selling those were true, that he'd gotten a windfall from the Tower purchases. Drink always made people talkative. And it was a wonder how much anyone could know about the stuff people did in private if they just put together a few facts and rumors. He took a long pull from his personal flask and approached the guard at the base of the Tower. A customary challenge, a simple reply and he was in.

Mangix headed for the top room, the staircase steps a little too small for his big feet. At the first landing, he stowed his combat half-boots at the designated alcove and proceeded upwards. The first four levels were empty, since lessons for apprentices were over for the day, not that there were that many after the siege began. As he ascended halfway to the fifth level, he felt wards probing him. Since he'd been granted entrance, possessed no ill intent and was a Champion, the energy fields withdrew their vigilant querying.

At the doorway, a familiar face popped out, though not the one he'd expected to see. A smile lit Lina's face as she saw the furry Pandarian.

"Mangix! What brings you here?" she exclaimed in delight. Mangix, grabbed her, thinking to give her a hug, then remembered that she had a lover and it might not be as appropriate. Instead, he popped a flask in her hands, taken from the array of flasks on his belt.

"This, my excited friend, and I needed to see Rylai." He gestured at the flask in her hands, "That's my version of elven mint wine. I daresay it'll be better than the ones you can buy. My personal brew, not apprentice-made." Lina took a sip and grinned.

"Come on in! Rylai's here and I think she knows what you want to talk to her about." She ushered him into the round room. As expected, Rylai was sprawled on a pile of cushions by the side, wearing a light blue casual dress. With purple designs. What shocked him wasn't the horrible color matching and design. Since she didn't have a mate, the tower was for all practical purposes her home and she could change into something more formal when the situation warranted it. It was the bloody bandages swathing her shoulder.

"You're hurt! Is it serious?" Mangix asked.

"Nah, won't kill me." she drawled. "Nearly did though." What made you pay me a visit, Mangix? Thought you were busy training that imp Essandril. By the way, I'm pretty sure you said something about 'mint wine' just now. Did you bring some? I could really use a cup. A large one." Rylai glanced eagerly around, her bright eyes searching.

"She's mad about that drink you know. She emptied out a dozen bottles I put in that cupboard in three days. And didn't get rip roaring drunk, not once. Did you, Rylai?" Lina pipped up.

"Nope, I didn't. Wouldn't know how it felt anyway, cause I don't remember ever getting drunk." she replied, rolling over and stretching. "Anyway, you probably came to ask about the northern valley, didn't you?" At Mangix's nod, she continued, "Damn Pudge. He's a tough cookie to handle. And scares the hell out of the troops to boot, what with that huge butcher cleaver he uses." The lounging sorceress took hold of the flask that Lina extended, and took a long sip. "This is so very good. Better than the ones that Lina brought." She chuckled and said to Lina, "Don't worry, I'll pay you back. After all, I haven't gone and gotten myself a lover to spend my paychits on." And she turned back to Mangix. "Anyway, have you any more? Six credits a flask? Ah, thanks." she said, deftly capturing the two flasks that Mangix tossed at her.

The credits were a wartime currency, pressed into circulation because of the scarcity of gold coins and the necessity to have a functioning economy in the Fortress. Each credit was worth about half a standard one-ounce gold coin. Prices were fixed to prevent inevitable inflation that would be otherwise happen.

Pudge was an enemy 'Champion'. The mirrored Champions possessed the same skill as the originals, but in some cases mutated versions. It was Mangix who had encountered it first, defending an Ancient Protector from a dangerously large enemy force. He, or it, was nine feet tall, compared to Mangix's seven and seemed to be composed of a fused mass of corpses. Nobody really wanted to find out if that was really the case. When Mangix had met it in battle, the only threat from it was its phenomenal strength and huge cleaver it wielded. Not with any great skill, but then who needed skill with a five foot blade? Against an expert weaponmaster like Mangix, who knew how to evaluate an opponent's style and plan countermoves accordingly, Pudge had been beaten into retreat, a difficult task for one of such enormous constitution.

"Anyway, Mangix, what exactly do you need to know about him? I thought you were the one that fought it first? Didn't you dodge that hook he threw? Bloody thing nearly killed me with it." Rylai asked him.

"What hook? I didn't see any hook. He wasn't carrying any hook when I fought him, if that's what you wanted to know. We just attacked each other. There really wasn't any need for me to use anything exotic, cause he wasn't difficult, just very strong and hardy and I needed to save my strength. I'm assuming that he did something unexpected with that hook you mentioned. Other than throw it, because I think you're competent enough to avoid anything that unwieldy." Mangix plopped down on a cushion, which promptly burst, showering the vicinity with small feathers. Lina and Rylai seemed to find his chagrin rather amusing and chuckled as he reached for another one, which burst as well when he sat on it.

"Alright, alright, stop destroying cushions. That stool should hold your weight properly. We should start calling you Pudge instead. Well, to answer your question, yes. That huge lout was charging at me while the treants were engaged with the ghouls. Obviously I was getting the hell away, but when I turned to fling a spell at him to freeze his feet, he threw the stupid hook at me. I avoided it cleanly but somehow it managed to change direction in midair. I got lucky and dodged in time, the hook hit me in the shoulder. I think he was aiming for my chest or belly. If he'd gotten lucky instead of me, well, I'd be lunch for him. He dragged me to him with a chain, I couldn't pull the hook out of my shoulder cause it was barbed. I was freaking scared witless, but that was my piece of luck, cause he had that chopper readied. Had I tried to run, I'd be lying there in two pieces. Kind of like Lina here." She winked at Lina and got a glare. "I cast the only spell I knew that could work against someone this close. It creates lots of exploding frost balls. Since my head's still attached and I'm not missing any body parts," Another glare from Lina, "I guess it worked. He still nearly took my whole arm off at the shoulder and the Healers say I nearly bled to death, but here I am." Rylai took a long mouthful from the flask.

"If you're here, who's holding the north?" Mangix asked. She wouldn't have left it unguarded, would she?

"Kardel's holding it. Though he didn't get there in time. They took down one of our Ancients. Nearly gave the council a fit. They'll be meeting tomorrow to discuss plans to prevent something like that from happening again." she said.

"Kardel? Who? I don't know him. What's so special about him."

"He's a dwarf with amazing eyesight and a dwarven rifle." Lina offered.

"Don't forget those bombs that Boush helped him make. Almost as good as magic." Rylai chipped in.

"I'd heard all the commotion before about dwarven rifles about a year back. Some idiot dwarf challenged an elf to a shooting contest. The elf put four arrows into his target before the dwarf got one shot off, which missed so badly that the target didn't even get scratched. And to tweak his nose, the elf helped the dwarf to fill _his_ target. Almost ended up in a fight, they did!" Mangix roared in laughter. "Still, to be accepted as Champion takes much skill."

"Well, they've learned to make far better weapons. The gnomes and goblins helped them. But don't take it from either of us, why don't you meet him in person later? You _are_ off duty till tomorrow afternoon, yes? And Council has denied permission for out-of-duty freelancing till further notice, so they must be planning something." Rylai offered. "In the meantime, maybe you'd like to drink?" She gave him a wink.

"Are you challenging a Pandarian?" Lina was incredulous. "They drink better than they brew!"

"Well, why not?" Rylai grinned saucily. "Those captains weren't any challenge at all. Although the piss they call strong ale nearly put me off the whole notion."

"Are you serious?" asked Mangix. "I've never lost to anyone but a Pandarian before. Even to Rhasta who swore blind he could outdrink even me. Why don't I let you choose your poison?"

"Mint wine." she replied instantly. "But you'd best get more. There isn't enough in this room to get even one of us started. Loser pays!" And she raised a challenging eyebrow.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

In the end, after Mangix had lugged in four huge urns of his wine and the wagered paychits were piled at the side, Rylai and Mangix were ready to begin. Lina complained that she was going to fall asleep unless they did something other than drink and drink and drink. Since there were a few questions she'd always wanted to ask Mangix but never found the time to, she suggested that they take a short break after every three cups. That was satisfactory and soon the first cups were drained and another sort of battle commenced.

Three cups.

Mangix set his mug on the cool stone floor beside him as Rylai did the same. "I've always wondered why your sorceresses are the best in the mage community. Even the elven masters of magic speak highly of your Clan. Is there some hidden secret that you can't tell me, or is it just hard work and aptitude? And don't give me the 'it's because women should rule the world' thing."

"It's no secret. It's just a combination of two things, focus and understanding. The first, many others have. It's the second that they don't." Lina told him.

"And don't forget the idiots who scoff at the idea of a sorceress Clan. The same idiots who insist to their dying breath that the, oh _feel _of the spell is the most important to mastering it. Pffft!" Rylai chuckled.

"Uh, what? You're saying that no one else has what understanding? Mind explaining a little more for this magical idiot here?"

"Mangix, nature has rules. So does magic. When people began to harness this primal force called magic, they didn't know what rules it followed. Thus, they happened by trial-and-error to stumble upon elaborate rituals to create certain effects. Experimentation with these rituals created the concept of the Spell. The general idea of a spell is of a specific set of steps a mage follows to generate a particular effect. For example, the conjuring of flame involves an incantation. Certain syllables can be substituted to change the intensity and size of the resulting blaze. Now, people began to treat the spells as indivisible things, that each spell was a discrete ritual. About three hundred odd years ago, one particular sorceress broke away from tradition and started her own Clan. She rewrote the entire basics of magery in her lifetime but didn't get any further. What was significant was that she totally scrapped all concepts of the Spell. Instead, she substituted fundamentals of power. The notion that magic is an amorphous power to be bent to one's designs by the use of will. No funny symbols, incantations, diagrams. Those are all supposed to bend one's will to the proper, uh, shape if you will. Not the instruments to invoke energies by themselves." Lina explained, frowning as she tried to find the words to illustrate the concepts to Mangix, who had no magical background at all.

"Which is what most other Clans stubbornly refuse to embrace. They continue to tinker with this symbol or that in the hopes that it happens to produce a particular effect better. The true power of our Clan is instant versatility. Don't like the way a frost nova explodes? Add an arc in the design of the offending side of the power structure to slow down the expansion during detonation. Not play around with the way you wiggle your fingers and try and try again till you find the correct one. Of course, it rarely is that simple, especially when you're dealing with a power matrix in three dimensions and you've got to find the tweak before someone puts a dagger in your chest or across your throat. But it's a hell of a lot better when you've understood completely how something works." Rylai chipped in.

"That's why I know only a handful of spells. It's because I can adapt them to any number of uses. And because it's so very difficult to totally understand the way the energies are arranged and how they affect the result, even though I think it's worth it. Other mages know many, many different spell variations, but they're all set in stone. A twenty foot fireball is a twenty foot fireball, a ten foot fireball is a ten foot fireball. But I can cast a firestorm anywhere between six to forty feet anytime I like." Lina finished.

"Interesting. Have a drink, quench your thirst, Lina." Mangix looked at Rylai and raised an eyebrow. Impudently, Rylai raised an eyebrow right back and picked up her mug and filled it.

Three cups.

"Tell me, Mangix of where you come from. I'd love to know where a land of wine and merrymaking lies. I might want to visit one day, you know." Rylai popped her questions. Lina's snort of amusement was audible.

"You would, wouldn't you."

"Well, it's an island. Actually, a pretty big island far to the south. We've only got two seasons. The hot wet season and the hot very wet season. Plants all grow amazingly well there. We grow tubers and a grass-like plant."

"And all those to brew stuff? Not to mention grapes and all? Do you live in villages or cities?"

"Well, the tubers and the grass-like plant we call rice are for eating. You really don't think that we live on wine do you? Of course we grow stuff for fermenting and distilling, those are the ingredients for our famous products."

"Which most people can't drink a glass of without passing out. Yes, fine drink indeed. In fact, I think the dwarves could use the strongest of your drinks as fuel for their oil lamps." Lina remarked dryly.

"I have indeed distilled alcohol for Boush. I don't know what he wanted something so strong for, though he did mention that he needed something as pure as I could get. He paid me lots and lots for something like that."

"Ahah! I knew you Pandarians would be supplying the firewood of tomorrow. There was this time when I was bored out of my wits and decided to actually test if your drinks were flammable. I poured a little into my lamp and tried to light it. For a moment the flame caught, then died." Rylai said as she filled her mug. Seeing that, Mangix filled his as well.

Three cups.

Three cups.

Three cups.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Lina blinked her sleep-fogged eyes. When had she fallen asleep? And that drinking contest, a dream? She looked around. No, it was real. Mangix snored contentedly away on the floor, Rylai sprawled in a tangle of limbs on a pile of cushions. She got up, her robes clinging to her sweaty body. Too hot. If only Rylai was awake. She inspected the urns. Surely even the formidable pair couldn't have finished all three urns, could they? No, there was one still full and another half full.

_So, who won? I'd love to see Mangix's face if he lost._

She descended the stairs to the third level and into a bathroom. Quickly, she stripped off her robes, sticky with sweat and nudged the door shut with a lazy kick. There was a large tub of water maintained there through a clever system of pipes. Lina contemplated heating the water, a simple task for her, but decided against it.

_I'll melt…_

The bathroom had wooden slats arranged to drain away the water. Lina snagged the bucket and filled it with water. A bucketful from top to bottom would feel really good.

Sploosh.

_Aieeeeee! Brrrr…_

_Cough, cough, splutter splutter…_

_Rylai…_

"That was ABSOLUTELY not funny." Lina told the door severely. Giggles, familiar giggles. She sighed. That imp of a sorceress… Her teeth had stopped chattering, but she was still shivering.

With a touch of her mind, Lina heated the water back to its original lukewarm temperature and continued with her shower. She could hear the howls of laughter and deep chuckles in the distance. She ignored them. The warm water sluicing over her skin felt heavenly as it warmed her chilled body.

_Always a daring one, imp._

Lina smiled. In war and in peace, there were things to be cherished.


End file.
